


a tale of joy

by bittersnake



Category: Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (2010), Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (Video Games), Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Future Fic, In which the author makes up and assumes a lot but hopefully it makes sense, Pregnancy, Story within a Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 19:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17049380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersnake/pseuds/bittersnake
Summary: Tell me a tale, father. Tell me a tale.





	a tale of joy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [disgruntled_owl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntled_owl/gifts).



_Once upon a time, a princess was born. She was heralded as the most beautiful creature ever born and the whole country rejoiced but none more so than her parents, the King and Queen. And thus, she was called the Princess of Joy._

It is a long and hard birth. There is blood everywhere. The Maharajah is there, an odd occasion for him to attend. It is not tradition but voices have learned quickly to quell their thoughts on the radicalness of their ruler. The midwife pays no mind to the threats he shouts at her. While he may be the ruler of India, the birthing room is her domain.

His new wife is considered a delicate thing, bones like a bird and infused with a sort of ethereal nature . But those who crossed her found out that she had a hidden strength of steel within. She does not scream, in spite of pushing for twenty turns of the hourglass. Instead, she breathes.he only sign of distress is the wrinkling of her brow and the sweat that coats her bare form.

The babe keeps moving within their mother. Rolling this way and that. Almost like a fish dancing within the river of the womb of their mother. Almost as if they know they are about to be cast into a world in which they will be given so much, and yet claimed by so many. Such is the fate of royalty. In particular, the second born. This is a child that will be a bargaining chip. A way to carve new alliances and cultivate relationships. Such was the fate of the Maharajah's siblings, and such will be the fate of this slippery child.

"Push, my lady," the midwife says to the mother. "We are almost there."

The woman in the bed grimaces. 

"You have been saying that all that and yet," she takes a pained breath. "And yet -- " 

Another breath. 

"This child -- AHH" She writhes, trying in vain to get herself into a less painful position on the bed. "--will not leave me." 

"You are almost there, my lady," the midwife replies, gently probing the soon-to-be-mother's stomach. Yes, soon.

Within two more turns of the hourglass, the deed is finally done. The baby, a girl child, is out and placed upon the mother's chest. Surprisingly, the Maharajah is pleased (he already has a son, the midwife reflects) and thus,despite the child's sex, this child is welcomed. 

As she begins to clean the child, she hears the soft whispers of parents deciding the name of the child. She had heard whispers from the serving women, that a boy was to be named Amar to signify the immortal nature of the Maharajah's dynasty. Evidently, they had made no such plans for a girl. The midwife cleans the child slowly. It's such a small creature, for such a difficult labor. She has seen prettier babies but the eyes of this child are large and bright bordering on luminous and her hair is thick. She has the look of a troublemaker, but a well meaning one. 

Finally, the voices dim somewhat and she takes that as a sign to bring the child to her parents.

"She is to be named Farah," the mother states softly, her voice raspy from the labor.

"She will be the joy of the empire," the Maharajah announces, gazing upon the small wriggling form of the child. 

* * *

_The Princess of Joy was a curious child. She was not content to merely be called the Princess of Joy, but she wished to bring it to everyone around her. Some attempts were more successful than others._

She was in trouble. Again.

She didn't mean to (as always). She always tried to be Good and Proper and to Bring Honor to The Glory of the Maharajah. It's just that there were so many RULES. 

"Don't run, Farah. Take small steps as befitting of a princess."

"Don't dirty your kameez, Farah. A lady must always be clean and neat at all times."

"Farah, leave your brother alone, he must practice his archery. Go practice your sitar."

"Farah, stop talking so much. Go and meditate."

She sighed, kicking her feet in the dust of the courtyard-- oh yet another rule broken, again-- as she waited for her nurse, Chaaya, to finish her most recent lecture. 

"--and furthermore, you could get scars! You are the daughter of the Maharajah. The joy of the Empire! You cannot go about looking like an urchin child covered with dirt and scars, your highness," Chaaya wailed as she bandaged Farah's arm.

Farah wrinkled her nose. "But Kalim has scars and gets covered in dirt all the time from training." 

Chaaya puffed up indignantly. "Prince Kalim is a young man who will one day become the ruler of India! He must train in the warrior arts in order to be a proper successor for the Maharajah."

"But I'm the daughter of the Maharajah. shouldn't I be trained as well? I'm a better archer than Kalim anyway," Farah grumbled.

"We heard that our daughter had an accident today," a voice boomed above her.

"Father!" Farah jumped off of her seat and ran into his arms as he picked up and swung her about.

"Your Majesty," her nurse bowed. "My apologies for the state of the Princess, I will--

"We understand that our daughter is more spirited than most, Chaaya. That will be all for now, we have come to see our youngest."

"As you wish, your majesty," she replied, bowing and slowly walking backwards from the terrace. 

"Father, I--"

"Now what is this I hear about you and Kalim fighting?"

Farah looked down sheepishly. It was one thing to be scolded by Amma. It was almost a normal part of her day at this point. Wake up. Perform yoga. Bathe. Go to temple. Eat breakfast. Have morning scolding from Amma for eating like a wild animal or eating too much. Go to lessons. Practice sitar. Second lecture from Amma. More lessons. Find Kalim and bother him, until he sent her away or gave in and taught her how to fight or shoot. Ride horses. Sleep. Repeat. But a lecture from Father was such a rare thing that she felt a little ashamed. She saw him so rarely already.

"I didn't mean to, but he was bragging that he was the best archer in India and he's not. And it's not good to lie, and so I told him so and then he said prove it and then I did and then he got upset and then I got upset and them I punched him," she muttered into her father's chest. "Oh, and then I tried to lift his sword and slipped and I got a cut but Amma fixed it. See!" 

She stuck out her arm, showing off the linen cloth that was wrapped tightly about her arm with a faint red splotch in the middle of it.

The Maharajah gently pried Farah's face away from his chest. "Was that the right thing to do, little joy?"

Farah looked down, lower lip pushed out into a pout. "But Kalim lied, Father! And you say there's nothing worse than a liar, and--"

"And what else to do I say, young one?"

A beat.

She sighed. "And that you shouldn't fight with swords, if you can fight with words instead."

"And could you have fought with words, Farah, and thus, avoided hurting yourself and Kalim?"

"I don't know, father. He made me so mad and I couldn't help it," she said, sniffing. She wasn't going to cry. She already was in enough trouble without crying and making it worse.

The Maharajah placed her on her feet and gently ruffled her hair.

"Don't cry, little one. You're still young but you must learn to control your temper. Both for your brother's and for your own sake. You are a princess of India. If I fought everyone who angered me, we would have no allies."

At this, Farah stopped sniffling. 

"You get angry, father?" She couldn't believe it. Father never raised his voice at anyone, even when that annoying old man with the staff-- Amma said that was a Vizier and one of Father's most important advisors-- complained. He didn't even get mad when Kalim broke his hourglass.

"Yes, little one," he chuckled. "I too get angry. But I control it. Reign it in--"

"Like a horse, father?"

"Yes, much riding a horse. You have to have a strong and gentle hand to control your anger, instead of letting it rule your actions. Do you understand, Farah?"

"I… think… so," she said wrinkling her nose in thought. "But I'm still a better shot than Kalim."

The Maharajah laughed softly at this statement. "Well, why don't we go practice in the gardens and I can see for myself." 

At this, he took Farah's hand in his and together they walked to the gardens.

* * *

_As time passed, the small girl known as the Princess of Joy, grew into an accomplished women who was known for her just and kind nature as well as her joyous spirit. Sadly, there were challenges on the horizon of her charmed existence._

THUMP.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

"Bloody hell, how did you manage to do that," the young man cursed, as he watched his sister manage to shoot three arrows in succession in the same spot, the latter arrow splitting the prior in half. 

Farah smirked. "While you're busy carousing in the pleasure quarters, some of us try to improve useful skills."

"I'll have you know, my skills are considered quite good."

"Kalim, stop corrupting your sister and come inside," a voice called out. "The delegation is arriving soon and you must escort the Emir's daughter."

"Darling mother, delight of my eyes--"

"Kalim, now."

At that tone, Kalim jauntily but quickly headed to the baths, stopping briefly to hug his mother, in spite of his sweat covered form.

Farah began yanking the arrows out of the targets. "Father isn't back yet.”

"He will come."

"How can you be so calm," Farah bit out, gesturing with the used arrows. "It's been three fortnights since they have left India and no one has seen hide nor hair of him or his ships. All the pigeons that he's normally sent have been missing and for all we know he may be..." 

She trailed off.

"Farah, come here," her mother said, patting the grass beside her seated form. "Put down your arms and sit with me for a bit."

"I cannot just sit while he may be--"

"Farah."

She sat her mother's feet. Silent, hands twisting the ends of her dhoti that she wore when practicing. "What if, what if he does not come back? What if he has perished? What if--"

The Maharajah's wife took Farah's hand in both of hers. 

"Farah," she said softly. "You cannot torture yourself with 'what ifs'. You must go forward with what is."

"How can you say this! He is my father--" 

"And he is my husband," she replied sharply. Farah froze, startled by her mother’s demeanor.

"Farah," she continued, gentling her tone. "You must have faith in your father's skill. Not only in his having the ability to come back safely, but also in him instilling the skills you and Kalim need to rule." 

She titled Farah's face upwards. "My darling joy, one day we will pass and you and your brother must take what you have learned from us to rule wisely and well. Time comes for us all, be it now or later. It's what we do with this time that defines us."

"But Mother, I---"

"Yes, Farah."

"I'm scared," she confessed, her voice infused with shame.

The Maharajah's wife brushed a few strands of hair away from Farah's face as she cupped a palm around her cheek. Thumb gently brushing stray tears away. "I know, little one, as am I. Every day."

"But how do you go on, Mother?"

"I use a trick my Amma taught me once, and that may help you as well. You know how the guru tells you to think of a lotus whenever you mediate?"

"To focus?"

"Yes, exactly. Well, I picture myself in room surrounded my doors and one of them is a magic one, that hides all my fears, and to find it, I say a magic word."

"What is the word, Mother?"

"Kakolookiyam."

A beat.

"Kaa koo loo kii um?"

Farah's mother nodded. 

"But how does it work?"

"Well---"

BRAHHH! BRAHHH! BRAHHH! 

The sound of horns crashed through the serenity of the courtyard, startling both women to their feet.

"Father!" Farah cried out running to the balcony, with her mother quickly following behind her.

She looked out from the balcony, until she saw it. 

A large object, gilded with gold and gems, shaped like an hourglass. It was carried by a caravan of soldiers and beasts of burden, and at the head of the procession was the most important part to Farah, her father.

* * *

_Alas, one day a gift was brought to the kingdom of the Princess. It was said to bring light and joy to all, but instead, it was a curse in disguise. Instead of light, a shadow of darkness came across the kingdom, burdening everyone with misery and darkness within their hearts. Even the Princess of Joy could not cast away the darkness shrouding her kingdom._

The dull smell of iron was everywhere, fog-like in its presence. She couldn't tell where it ended or where it began -- only that it was just there. Bodies were everywhere, slain with eyes wide open. Servants, soldiers, peasants, courtiers, anyone who had a passing impact in her life, surrounding her. But at her feet, laid her brother and mother. Wrapped in the clothes she saw them last in. A small comfort to know that she could still recall their faces. Still faintly recall the scent of marigolds that her mother bathed in, despite the time that had passed. And in the background, the faint dull hissing of shifting sands.

Other nights, she dreamed of falling. It always happened the same way. A slice of her palm. A flash of piercing blue. The endless, weightless fall. And then, a pained yell. As if someone's soul was being broken.

And then Farah wakes.

Wakes to sweat-covered sheets, the curtains of her chamber swaying lightly in the night breeze, and a pain beneath her heart. An emptiness, almost. As if she lost something or someone she scarcely knew existed.

* * *

_Finally, the Princess of Joy decided that she could no longer have her people suffer. So, she set out to fight the darkness herself. But to her surprise, the darkness was not a thing but a person. A man._

_He told her of his journey and of his mistakes and for those mistakes he bound himself in darkness. But with each confession, the darkness receded. Slowly but surely. As if acknowledging those mistakes to the Princess cleansed his spirit and, in turn, slowly but surely removed the darkness from the land. And thus, the man of sorrows swore his life to the Princess of Joy._

"Is that the end, Papa?" a small girl asked, bright blue eyes wide. Her hair was long, dark, and heavy, framing dusky chubby cheeks. "No, little one, " the Prince answered, his gaze meeting Farah's across the room. "The story is just beginning."


End file.
